


Stalked

by OhFrabjousDay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Crazy Harry Potter, Drama, Gen, Grimmauld Place, Haunting, Insane Harry Potter, Master of Death, a bit dark, good crazy?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 10:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4956241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhFrabjousDay/pseuds/OhFrabjousDay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter was being followed. He knew by what, too. Death had decided Harry was worthy of his interest because he had collected the Hallows. And now Death wouldn't leave him alone. A Master of Death!Harry story. Possible Insane!Harry, as well!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted more stories of Death and Master of Death!Harry and Harry interacting with death without it being a crossover. My inspiration was the amazing Hyliian and wanting more Death-Following-Harry-Around stories. So I've decided to make one.

Harry Potter was tired. Sick and tired of just about everything. His training to become an Auror, the creeping feeling of unwelcome the longer he stayed in Grimmauld, Ginny and her pestering about their non-relationship… everything.

He had been thinking about leaving Auror training for awhile now, but Ron just seemed so happy there, and he was loath to leave his first and best friend. Besides, what else did Harry have a talent for besides chasing bad guys? Nothing  _he_  could think of. So he stayed. For now.

But he didn't really like it anymore. He had fought for too long, and since the fights were no longer personal, he didn't feel forced to act like he used to. Like he had no choice. Not anymore. He was free to stop fighting for his life if he so chose, and the option was becoming more tempting by the day.

Number 12 Grimmauld was freaking him out. The house seemed to actually hate him. The corners seemed to grow darker, and the wood floors louder in its creaking complaints when stepped upon. Portraits of Blacks long dead would pop up on random walls in the mornings (he suspected Kreacher), and he could hear them whisper sibilantly into the darkness at night.

Whether their whispers were to one another, to themselves or simply to freak him out, he didn't know. The hiss their whispers resembled always reminded him of Nagini at the worst of times; right after waking, thrashing, from a nightmare of the large serpent striking Snape's throat over and over  _and over_.

He had begun to hate the house in return, and considered abandoning it, even if it was his final link to Sirius. Yet for now he stayed.

Ginny wanted him to stay with her too. Get back together, start making a family and  _officially_ become a Weasley "Just like you always wanted". Harry had to scoff at that. They had both changed, and she wanted to fly for the Harpies anyway, so what sort of settling down would that be? He figured they could either wait, or they both could just move on.

Like everything else, he was getting more and more annoyed with things that he refused to address and it was wearing on him.

So much so that when Harry found himself staring Death in the face that night in a dream, he very nearly rolled his eyes in resignation at what he figured was the loss of his sanity.

Unfortunately for Harry Potter, nothing for him was ever so simple as that.

~o-o~

"Hello,  _Master_ ," Death mocked in a voice that scratched like nails on a chalkboard and yet was smoother and deeper than the depths of the darkest abyss. Death itself was darkness, and the blinding light at the end of the tunnel. It was ageless, black cloaked and ever changing.

It was genderless, and at the moment, literally without a face: a blank expanse of sallow skin, pulled taut over a skull, so one could see the vague bump of a nose bone, and where there should be a mouth, but it was all covered in papery thin, blue-veined skin, skin,  _skin._

Shocked, horrified, and confused, Harry simply gaped. He didn't know how he knew he was facing Death, but know he did, and he was starting to worry that he may not actually be dreaming, but had somehow died in his sleep.

Death moved forward slowly in the dark, shifting as It moved, morphing with the creak of brittle bones popping and the snap of young bones breaking into something different, with a face this time, of an old woman with a cruel look, and eyes that refracted light. Death rasped out It's amusement in the crazed laugh of a man who had finally succumbed to madness, which was strange, coming from the face of an old woman.

"You fear for your life, mortal?" Death finally spoke in the voice of a child. "How absurd! If I had come for you in death you would never  _see_  me. This is merely a dream and a message for you concerning your new role."

Harry's horror at the rapid changing and confusion towards It's words grew. "U-uh, er, what you said a-about me being your Master earlier- that doesn't actually _mean_  anything, does it?"

"Of course it does, mortal!" The child-like voice coming from an old woman's face continued. "Just not in the way you'd expect. The legend is something I made up in order to tempt mortals into collecting my Hallows. You see, I am so pleased to finally meet you. I've been desperate for some entertainment. I was beginning to worry that no one would ever pick up my three little toys!" A childlike giggle passed the lips of Death's newest face, that of a middle-aged man. "I have to say they certainly stayed apart longer that I thought they would, given the greed you mortals possess."

A shadow passed over Death and grimaced into the face of a tattooed teenager before brightening as though there was never a darkness in It's face to begin with. "I made them so I wouldn't have to pick a mortal at random and hope for something interesting to happen while I observed them."Death chirped out in the voice of a young woman. "I figured that the trials one had to go through in order to bring my Hallows together would require and create a fairly interesting mortal."

Death's eerie light-refracting eyes, that stayed constant on every face Harry had witnessed so far, stared deeply into his own cautious emeralds. Abruptly, there was a blinding lance of pain as Death looked into his mind and SAW. "Oh yes, you will do nicely. It seems you are already quite familiar with me. How perfect," Death smirked in a grin too wide and dark on the face of a now cherubic-like child and then the pain in Harry's head abruptly vanished.

Harry groaned in relief from his spot where he had fallen and slanted a careful glance up through his longish obsidian hair. Death was terrifying, and yet, the words It spoke rang true. Death couldn't possibly have a master, and that was why It had sounded so acerbic as It spoke the word. But to be bored? That made sense to Harry. He had never understood Tom Riddle's obsession, for he himself had always thought living forever would be boring and lonely. So Harry definitely understood that Death would crave some company in It's eternity.

He also knew Death was right about being familiar with It. Death's magic felt like a choking wet blanket and the warm comfort of what could only be a mother's embrace, and Harry had felt it more than once before. Harry had had so many brushes with Death he had an honorary bed in Hogwarts, but Harry had been familiar with Death even before then. Not when he was given his curse scar by Voldemort, although that surely counted as his first brush with Death.

No, Harry meant back in his cupboard, when he had been so sick he couldn't move, aches and wracking coughs shaking his small frame, or when he had been starved as punishment for imagined offenses and he would count his own ribs out of sheer boredom as he wasted away in his little prison cell. Harry was familiar with Death, he always had been. Just not like this. This was overwhelming.

"This is a win-win situation, Potter." Harry gasped and whipped his gaze up from where it had drifted to stare into the familiar sneering face of Severus Snape. "I shall be endlessly entertained by you and the mortal world," Snape's caustic drawl faded as Dumbledore's voice affectionately murmured, "And you will never be alone again."

Harry blinked away tears rapidly at the sudden emotional assault. He hadn't even considered Death using the faces of dead people he  _knew_ , that just seemed unfair.

Death morphed back into the faceless, genderless  _nothing_  of before. Wheezing a laugh that sounded like the choking burbles of a drowning man, Death turned and everything went black.

~o-o~

Harry practically threw himself awake, hurtling upwards into a sitting position as he gasped for air. His throat closed in horror as violent shivers wracked his spine.

 _Just what was that? And why did that dream seem so similar to the visions I used to receive from Voldemort?_  "That was  _not_  a normal dream!" Harry railed in terror and rage.

And it hadn't been normal. Harry's dreams usually consisted of the crippling nightmares supplied by his tireless guilt-complex. But not this time. This had been too real, too random and something he hoped that not even  _his_  twisted mind would simply conjure up for no reason.

Harry was horrorstruck. Going back over the entire 'dream' again in his head, he began to make various noises of shock, fear and even mild amusement. Of course he shouldn't believe such a thing, how ridiculous could one get? But as he thought again of those strange eyes and the ever changing face and voices, a sense of foreboding grew. It had told him things that he did not know, and had mentioned the Hallows.

Harry hadn't thought of the Hallows very often these past three months after the war. There had been too many funerals and speeches and parties celebrating his victory. Now Harry had been cruelly and horribly reminded of something he had thought was completely over and done with.

And what did Death mean by "you will never be alone again", exactly? That was something he surely wanted, especially because everyone and everything he ever loved seemed to either die or abandon him. But he certainly didn't want  _Death_  constantly keeping him company. That would not be so nice. So here he was, at a loss and his day most certainly ruined.

Unable to do anything further about his dream as his stomach grumbled in complaint, Harry shook off the fear and unease as best he could and pulled himself out of bed.  _No sense brooding. Or cowering. Might as well grab some breakfast._

The stairs creaked louder than the day before as Harry slowly made his way down to the kitchen, avoiding looking at the numerous faces of disproving Blacks and their derisive mocking as he sleepily plodded along. They mocked his blood, his posture, his lack of proper attire, and lack of silencing charms as his 'foul screaming had yet again, woken us all'.

The sconces on the walls now barely illuminated the halls, making it difficult to see, guttering in what seemed to be a hope for his demise in a tumble down the stairs.

It was after this dark and depressing walk down to fetch his breakfast that led to Harry finding Kreacher's stiff and oddly, already rotting corpse laid out on the kitchen floor.


	2. Visitor

Harry didn't panic. Just because he'd recently been visited by Death in a very realistic dream didn't mean it had anything to do with his house elf keeling over. Kreacher was extremely old… it could've just been old age. Nothing more… truly.

Sighing in annoyance and aggravation, Harry searched about, wondering how he was going to take care of the body other than just trying to vanish it. To be candid, Harry was not torn up over Kreacher's death. He had been merely tolerating the elf, switching between barely contained hatred at his betrayal of Sirius, and pity. Now that the elf was gone, Harry felt nothing but relief.

Then he noticed a flicker in the corner of his eye, like when you know something is there, but you quickly convince yourself it's just your imagination… because otherwise that means that something else is in the house with you. Especially considering your only live-in companion is now dead at your feet.

Harry convinced himself to ignore it and went about making his breakfast after stuffing Kreacher's body through the Floo to the Ministry of Magic. Chuckling to himself imagining the panic is would cause, Harry put on some tea. After a satisfying and calming breakfast sans Kreacher's spit and insults, Harry had to admit he was feeling a bit more cheerful.

Being the weekend, Harry didn't have to head in to Auror training. Resigned to spending a rather dreary day indoors while he hid from the press, Harry headed back up the stairs to get dressed before taking up residence in the library for a read (nap). He knew he couldn't hide from the press forever, but he figured he deserved a break from it all for at least a  _few_  more months.

Harry couldn't visit with the Weasleys because they were off visiting Charlie, and besides, Harry still couldn't stand the painful feeling of  _wrongness_  Fred's death had left in the family. Fred's absence had become a painful black hole that seemed to suck the life from a room, due to a look or flickering smile that quickly faltered and caused a ripple effect, as though as soon as one Weasley thought of Fred, they all noticed and felt it too. The silences were awkward and sad for Harry, who, despite Molly's reassurances, still felt like an outsider when faced with the magnitude of their grief.

So, he stayed in Grimmauld for now, where most days he felt he deserved the derision of the Blacks and loneliness of the house. After all, he was the cause of most everyone's deaths. If only he had surrendered sooner, been quicker, or been a bit more smart in figuring out the Horocruxes. It was all done now however, and Harry was living with it. He had to. He had chosen to live in King's Cross Station.

~o-o~

While walking through Grimmauld on his way to the library, Harry could hear a scraping slightly behind him and to the right. Like nails scraping along the wall. Naturally, as the hairs raised along the back of his neck, he hurried his pace and dared not look back until he was safely shut into the library. Harry had learnt that some things were better left alone and un-confronted. Especially when he should be alone in an ancient and very Dark townhouse.

Dismissing it as best he could, Harry directed his steps towards his favorite cushy black leather armchair just before the Dark section of the library. Grabbing a text that discussed the psychological effects of extreme Light and extreme Dark spells on the mind, Harry read for as long as he could before slowly drifting off to sleep.

~o-o~

After an excellent nap, Harry picked himself up out of the chair, casting a  _Tempus_ as he went. Noticing the time as near dinner and remembering his now distinct lack of house elf, Harry headed back out the warded door to the library and down towards the kitchens. He grumbled under his breath about having to acquire a new elf to help soon when Harry suddenly remembered his dream about Death and that strange scratching he had heard before.

Blanching, Harry staggered to a stop as he came upon what had obviously been the same spot he had heard the scratching. There, Harry observed four wobbly lines on the wall around face height, as though someone with claws had lightly scraped their fingers along the wall. Except, instead of curling as though ripped, the wallpaper seemed to have rotted away, peeling back like the rigor mortis grimace of a corpse.

As he gazed at the ruined walls with growing dread and unease, Harry felt the soft brushes of cloth against the backs of his bare arms and felt a hot puff of what smelled like putrid rotten air hit against the back of his neck.

Harry yelped, considerably spooked, and pounded up the stairs to his room. As he ran, the portraits stared wide-eyed and, for once, did not berate him as they gazed over his shoulder as he thundered past, panicking Harry even more as he now  _knew_  without a doubt that something was behind him.

Slamming the door to his room shut, Harry sagged against it and panted for breath as he had a minor melt down.  _Something's in the house, something I can't see, I tried to look and I couldn't see it! Why is this happening? What IS it?_

Harry shuddered and calmed himself, breathing deeply as he went about putting workout clothes on. It was only around four in the afternoon, but Harry knew there was no way he was going to be leaving the room again today, so he decided to work out for a while and then maybe actually read his book.

Putting his current adrenaline high to good use, Harry lost himself in the mindless-ness of exercise and tried to dismiss the clues and similarities between the contents of his dream and the strange occurrences that had happened so far that day.

However, it was becoming more and more difficult to ignore the truth- something seemed to be following him. Something with the touch of death.

~o-o~

After a relaxing hot bath, Harry was reading in his favorite chair by the fire in his rooms when it happened.

He heard a long moaning sigh just as two hands landed heavily upon his shoulders. Naturally Harry yelped and tried to twist about in his chair to see who had snuck up behind him, angry chastisement burning on his tongue if it happened to be a familiar face.

However, the hands just gripped tighter and Harry winced at the strength of their grip.

"Harry Potter," an unfamiliar woman's voice purred out, rolling his name about in their mouth as if tasting it. "How good it is to finally meet you, in person".

Harry whipped his head from one side to the other, attempting to see the intruder, but the hands just squeezed again. They felt like small children's hands, but their grip was impossibly firm. That was when Harry knew with dawning horror that his dream had indeed been a message notifying Harry of his new, bored companion. "Death?" Harry croaked out. His voice cracking under the weight of his dread and anticipation of an answer.

"Well done Harry," a new voice simpered in a tone disgustingly similar to one Delores Umbridge. "I'm so glad that you've put that pesky denial behind you already. Did you know, I once had to haunt a mortal for two  _years_  before they spoke directly to me? Of course, they were nothing like you my dear, for one, they could not see me, so they simply went mad!" Death sighed the sigh of a broken-hearted mother in mourning and stroked icy fingers down Harry's right arm. "I am so glad you've recognized and spoken to me, Harry. That will make things  _so_  much more fun."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muahahah! Sorry dearie, but I'm stopping on that cliffhanger! Don't hate me too much! <3
> 
> More coming... soonish? (awkward hand rubbing the back of the head with sheepish face)

**Author's Note:**

> Death is coming to visit! I'm still trying to decide if Death will drive Harry crazy or not. I'm not pairing Death and Harry together... Death is just booooored and Harry is a fun toy.


End file.
